Chapter 3 — A Lifetime of Missed Affection

I opened my phone and sent the recording, along with the electronic copy of the divorce agreement, to Ha Nghien Chi. As I passed through airport security, my phone began to ring incessantly. I turned my head to gaze at the scenery of North City beyond the glass. Lowering my head, I pried out the SIM card, snapped it in two, and tossed it into the airport trash bin. North City was undeniably beautiful, but it had never truly belonged to me. The road ahead of me was long, and I no longer wished to trap myself and Little Star in the role of a permanent backup for someone else.

When Ha Nghien Chi rushed back to the house, the lights in the living room were still on. Man Yao was still there. She was wearing my slippers, her eyes rimmed with red as if she had just been weeping.

"Nghien Chi, Thanh Hoa misunderstood me."

Ha Nghien Chi was not like before; he did not rush to console her. He stood at the entryway, his gaze falling upon the playpen of Little Star. Little Moon was already awake, clutching Little Star's comfort toy. One of the toy's ears had been pulled until it was completely distorted. On the floor lay a tiny sock of Little Star's that I hadn't had time to pack. It was so small, lying lonely at the base of the crib. Ha Nghien Chi's Adam's apple bobbed as he pulled out his phone and played the recording I had sent. The room fell deathly silent. Man Yao's voice echoed from the device.

"Little Moon has taken her vitamins; naturally, I know she is fine."

"I only wanted to see if, as long as I cried, Ha Nghien Chi would still choose me."

Those two sentences were enough. The blood drained from Ha Nghien Chi's face, turning him ghostly pale. Man Yao panicked.

"Nghien Chi, it is not like that. She trapped me with her words, she goaded me on purpose..."

Ha Nghien Chi lifted his eyes to look at her. The expression in them was entirely foreign—so cold that Man Yao's voice instantly withered. He asked, "Little Moon was fine that day; you knew that?"

Tears spilled from Man Yao's eyes. "I was just so afraid. I am divorced, raising a child alone, I truly didn't know what to do..."

Ha Nghien Chi's voice was hollow. "The doctor said two hours of observation would be sufficient. During those two hours, Little Star was in the emergency room."

Man Yao stepped forward, weeping. "Nghien Chi, I didn't mean for it to happen. I was just too terrified of losing you."

Ha Nghien Chi stepped backward. Man Yao lunged for him and missed. She stood frozen in disbelief. In the past, whenever she cried, Ha Nghien Chi would soften. It had been that way in high school. It had been that way in college. It had even been that way after she returned from abroad. But this time, he did not reach out to catch her. He only stared at her, his voice hoarse.

"Man Yao, at that time, Little Star only had me."

Man Yao turned deathly pale. Ha Nghien Chi walked toward the bedroom. In the closet, half of my belongings were gone. On the nightstand sat a sticky note that had been smoothed out. It was a note I had once crumpled up and thrown in the trash: "Tomorrow the three of us will go to the mall; remember to take a family photo." Perhaps I had fished it out later because I couldn't let go. Or perhaps it was a reminder to myself of how pathetic my expectations truly were. Ha Nghien Chi picked up the note, his fingertips trembling. He suddenly remembered that day at the mall. He had been carrying Little Moon in front. Man Yao had told him that Little Moon had been crying every night. He had said, "Tomorrow I will have someone recommend a child psychologist for you."

Man Yao had replied, "You are the only one who understands me."

He had not looked back. Because of that, he had not seen me carrying Little Star, lugging the heavy diaper bags, struggling to keep up with them. He had not seen how long Little Star had cried. At that moment, he had simply assumed that as long as I was there, the child would be fine. As long as I was there, the home would remain whole. As long as I was there, he could rest easy while tending to someone else. He dialed my number, but it was no longer in service. He called again and again, but the only response was the robotic voice of the operator.

"The number you have dialed is no longer in service."

Ha Nghien Chi stood in the bedroom and suddenly felt the house was terrifyingly empty. Man Yao stood at the door, calling to him in a soft voice, "Nghien Chi..."

Ha Nghien Chi did not turn around. "Leave."

Man Yao stiffened. "What did you say?"

"Take Little Moon and leave my house," he said. Man Yao could not believe it. "You are kicking me out because of Hua Thanh Hoa?"

Ha Nghien Chi closed his eyes. "It is not because of her. It is for my son. And," he added after a pause, "it is for myself. I do not want to continue being wrong."

After Man Yao departed, the house fell into absolute silence. Ha Nghien Chi sat on the living room sofa, unable to sleep all night. For the first time, he truly looked at this home. In the corner of the room was Little Star's playmat. Beside the dining table was the high chair. Under the coffee table were baby wipes and a digital thermometer. On the refrigerator door was a schedule for Little Star: what time for milk, what time for solid food, what time for naps, which medications he was allergic to, and what he could not eat. The handwriting was entirely mine. Ha Nghien Chi stared for a long time, only then realizing how much of a stranger he was to his own child's life. He was Little Star's father, yet he was like a temporary guest who had merely stumbled in. The next day, he went to the hospital. He sought out the doctor to ask about the precautions for Little Star's recovery from pneumonia, whether high-fever seizures would cause lasting damage, and how to handle future fevers. The doctor looked at him with a polite but distant expression.

"Previously, these questions were always asked by the child's mother."